


Let the fun begin

by LeRien



Series: Agents & Spies [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, CIA Agent Dean, Gay Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Russian spy Castiel, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeRien/pseuds/LeRien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll catch you, I promise you that." "I'd love to see you try, handsome." Dean is a messed-up CIA agent and Castiel is a no less messed-up Russian spy whose personal goal seems to be making Dean's life a living hell. But when Dean finally gets his hands on him, things turn a bit differently than planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the fun begin

Dean gritted his teeth.

"I'll catch you, I promise you that,” he harshly hissed at the phone.

A ringing laugh answered him. "I'd love to see you try, handsome."

Dean's hand tensed and he threw the phone hard against the wall a second after the line went dead. Dean, or Agent Winchester as he was more widely known, passed a tired hand over his face and slumped into his chair, feeling nauseated, exhausted, and what's more, thoroughly humiliated.

It wasn't that he was  _obsessed_ , as Sam loved to put it. Merely the fact that it was his third mission in a row which ended up thwarted by the same guy. The same freaking guy of freaking Russian Intelligence, who not even a single CIA agent could put a finger on. For all his unit knew, he was even nameless. Dean glared. As time passed, the guy grew involved in more and more sensitive stuff and since he remained as elusive as ever, Dean had taken upon himself to call him 'Jimmy Novak', the first of his very numerous aliases. Or the oldest they had been able to trace, anyway.

Luckily, this time, there hadn't been any casualties. The mission consisted of intercepting a bunch of data information about one of the most powerful worldwide companies. And yeah, Dean was pissed they didn't succeed, but he was relieved the matter stayed indoors. He hated it when citizens were involved.

He was still deep in thoughts when Sam's head popped in the doorway.

"Dean! Here you are. Lisa was starting to wonder. You promised to have dinner with Ben and her tonight." The younger man frowned at the sight of his brother's guilty eyes. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"I did not." Dean protested, outraged.

Sam gave him the bitchface #34, also known as _then-why-are-you-acting-like-a-jerk,-jerk face_ , and Dean shrugged embarrassedly.

"She told me Henricksen was going to come too." He admitted. He knew he was being ridiculous. Lisa and him hadn't been "a thing" for a while now, but he still felt responsible for her and their son. And he was _so not_ ready to see her with her new boyfriend. Particularly since so-called boyfriend had been working with him for decades. For him, even, if you cared about hierarchy. In the rare occasions when he had been forced to deal with the both of them at the same time, he just hadn't known how to act. And he wasn't feeling overly confident after the issue today either.

"You can't avoid them forever, they have been together for almost half a year now,” said Sam reasonably. "Anyway, what were you doing? Oh…" he added as his stare lingered on the papers scattered on the desk. His frown turned from slightly concerned to heavily disapproving. "You have been obsessing over  _him_  again,” he accused.

It was so unfair.

“I’m not obsessed,” he snapped. “It isn't my fault if he is still sticking his noise in our business now, is it? And it's not just me, Crowley's on a fit as well."

"Yeah, well, I doubt Crowley collects countless reports about potential sights of "Novak" and he certainly does not have a map with red pins mapping his past locations in the last few months on his _bedroom_ 's wall."

"Whatever. How are you even here anyway? Last time I checked, it wasn't the lawyers building here."

Of course, Dean did know how. The answer was even classified as "sore point" in his relationship with his brother which counted plenty. But he was hoping his blatant douchebaggery would distract Sam enough to make him drop the Novak's file.

As it was, Sam merely rolled his eyes and said blandly: "After, well you know, _Dad_ , I seriously doubt anyone of the whole service ignores who the Winchesters are."

Dean simply nodded and reached for his leather jacket. He still had to pick up Lisa and she probably would tear his ribs out if he was late.

Thanks to God, as soon as Lisa caught sight of him, she informed him Henricksen ("you can simply call him Victor, Dean") wouldn't be able to make it and that Ben was already waiting for them at home.

Ben was indeed waiting, looking perfectly content, a PlayStation's joystick in his hands.

"Hi, Mom. Dad." He greeted without detaching his eyes from the screen.

"Get up, young man, I raised you better than this,” his mother admonished light-heartily.

All in all, it was a good dinner. Ben wasn't sulking for once (which he had seemed to do non-stop since his fourteenth birthday) and Dean even managed to escape before Lisa began to worry about his "solitary life" and his "emotional state”; subjects he was less than eager to approach.

He reached his apartment and fell on his bed. He wasn't exactly happy but he was… content. His answering machine beeped to inform him of a new message and he sat up to listen. A well-known grumbly and snarky voice broke the silence and his serenity.

"Out for a little family night? Guess I'm not surprised. You Americans are so boring. I suppose you had these revolting "hamburgers" they have the nerve to call "food" here. Very patriotic. I hope you're not feeling too bad about the documents I took under your nose. Because, really, it's not your fault, I'm just more talented than you. Also, I heard whispers which indicated you were building a file about me. Trying to, I should say. Cute, really. You don't even know my name, I really wonder what  _facts_  about me you actually possess. But just to be safe, I'd be incredibly grateful if you destroyed it. Or handed it to me. If you must. Well, that's all, really. Kiss your wife for me."

Dean lied back, swearing. Shit. It wasn't good.

He had indeed opened a “Novak" file, and even if it was technically classified information, it wasn't a big secret in the service. He wasn't surprised a guy as good as Novak was had found out. Truth be told, he was more surprised he considered it as a threat at all. There wasn't much: just records of his recognizable voice (Dean sometimes wondered if he faked such a baritone tone), blurred pictures and the list of his pseudonyms. Dean frowned thoughtfully. Maybe there was something useful in this crap if Novak wanted it off the table so badly. He'll have a closer look at it. And ask for Charlie's help too, maybe.

However, the fact that he knew about Lisa: that was bad news. Even if Novak had clearly mistaken his relationship with her, the veiled threat wasn't to be taken lightly. Dean will have to talk to Crowley into installing protection for her and Ben. He grimaced. It won't be pleasant. Crowley was good at his job but sometimes, maybe precisely because of this reason, it was as if he wasn't really human. He wasn't above using Lisa and her son as baits or something as ludicrously dangerous.

Dean closed his eyes. He will deal with it first thing in the morning. For now, he just needed rest.

XxX

Castiel was not annoyed. He never was. He was even widely respected for his cold head. "Of every Russian spies I had the misfortune of dealing with,” would often boast Gabriel, "Castiel is probably the most efficient. You want to know why? Because he knows how to  _conceal_." So, no, Castiel wasn't annoyed. Nope.

It was worse. He was  _pissed_.

"So you're telling me that Dean fucking Winchester and Fergus honest-to-God Crowley are at this very second going through the whole file I have told them to get rid of despite my threat of retribution if they failed to do so. Is that what you are saying, Mr Walker?"

His interlocutor shrunk a little. Castiel knew how to be impressive. His flat but rough voice, his unmoving face, and his unblinking eyes usually did the trick.

"You told me Miss Braeden was very dear to him, but he doesn't seem to worry too much."

"I don't understand. I ain't no friend of him, but I swear I heard him mentioning his date and his son and…"

"Oh? I thought these pieces of information were from a reliable source. I'm a bit disappointed, I'll admit."

"No, no! That's not what I meant! I mean, I _know_  they're on good term…"

"I didn't want to know the name of a person "he was on good terms with". I wanted to know the name of his lover or his partner, the name of a person which would make his blood turn cold at the barest allusion, the name which would make him panic and make a mistake!"

"Maybe they just had a… disagreement. And now, they're angry with each other…"

Castiel sneered. "You don't risk the safety of a life-long partner over a simple  _domestic_."

“Well," stubbornly continued Gordon Walker, "the man is very… distant. Unapproachable, some say. Never saw him relax or… He flirts a lot, all right, but it’s meaningless and… I don't know, he just doesn't seem the kind of man to worry about his family. Business before all, that kind of thing, you know?"

Gordon, Castiel decided, was an idiot. From what he had observed, Dean was exactly the kind of guy to over-worry about his loved ones. Righteous and kind, with a tiny bit of machismo. The perfect American cliché.

Castiel dismissed Gordon and allowed himself to concede he was scared. To be honest, he had been since he had known a file about him was on its way. A file with his false names. All of them. Particularly one.  _Jimmy Novak._

And he couldn't ask the help of the Russian government this time. He closed his eyes.

_Amelia pushed him through the doors. Dimly, he let himself be manhandled. She was crying and talking and he didn't understand what this was about. He only heard words, her voice, rushed and thick with grief as she pushed him harder. "Just go, already!" she cried. Stupidly, he wondered how she managed to still be so beautiful in her sorrow. "Amelia…" he began. He shouldn't have. "Don't 'Amelia' me! You!" She hit him. "Utter" Hit. "Dick!" He swallowed. "I didn't… Amelia, I… I promise you…" "Just shut up. Leave." He took a step back and stared at her. "It wasn't a lie. I… It was at first. I won't deny it. Amelia Roman, the daughter of the great Richard Roman. I… I was ambitious." He closed his eyes. "But I told them I didn't find you. I hid us. I lied to them. It wasn't a lie… This life, the wedding… Claire… It wasn't a lie, I swear it." Her glorious face was ruined by tears. He felt bothered by that, more than by anything. Amelia's face was made for smiles, not for tears. "You… your name isn't even Jimmy, is it?" He tilted his head. "No." he answered. "Jimmy will die today in…" he checked his watch. 'What an absurd thing to do.' "… in two hours." She just sobbed. She loved him. He knew. He loved her too. More than he had ever loved anything. "I'm sorry." And he was. But it didn't change anything. He turned to go. His back on her, he simply said "Don't leave an address when you leave the town." He then walked away. It was over, just like that. Later he'll send her a unique text "Sorry for your loss." She won't answer._

He shook his head. Officially, to this day, Amelia Roman's current identity remained unknown by both the CIA and the Russian Intelligence. Castiel intended to make things stay that way. He'll have to take the file himself. He couldn't let anyone make the connection between who he was at the time, Amelia and his mission.

He wondered, as he shut the door, how he ended up being the one panicking.

XxX

"Agent Winchester, I have good news."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. For some reason, even over the phone, Crowley's voice rejoicing never failed to give him chills.

"Hi Crowley, which corpse have you found this time?"

"Ha, bloody ha. You're hilarious, Squirrel." He paused. "Well, you're not so far from the truth. I mean, he's not a corpse, really, since he's very much alive and loud, which I assure you a corpse isn't, but he doesn't look too good either…"

"Crowley, it's too late for being a smartass. Or too early. Whatever. Spill the beans or hang up."

"Killjoy. It's Novak."

Dean's mouth went dry. "What about him?"

"We found him as he was trying to infiltrate the archives. A predictable move, really. He put a good fight, but well, he was outnumbered. He's still got quite a mouth, though. Victor beat him to a pulp when he mentioned that little girlfriend of his."

Sometimes, Dean had the same urge towards Crowley.

"We have an issue though." The British man carried on. "He won't talk. Not about the file, not about his employer, not about anything. Unless if you count calling us fuckers in Russian as talking."

"You want me to… take care of the situation?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I know you didn't want to do it since Alastair…"

"I'll do it,” Dean blurted out. Torture wasn't fun, and more important, illegal, but, goddamn, he had wanted it with Novak. And after his hellish week, it just felt like the biggest treat of all time. "I'm on my way." He hung up before changing his mind.

When he finally faced Novak, all tied on a chair, he felt…. He didn't know how he felt. The guy was in poor shape, blood pouring from wounds all over his face. But apart from that… He looked so normal. Dean didn't know what he expected but he supposed it was a more… flamboyant physical. To match his incredible voice and his repartee. But as it was, Novak could have passed for an accountant. Not the kind of face you'll remember. Well, given his job, it was probably the point.

And then, Novak rose his head and put his eyes on him. And they were the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. Piercing. Unforgettable. And at the moment, defiant and wary. A slight grin played on his bloody lips.

"Well, well, well." He said. And Dean knew, right there, that the man knew who he was, what he used to do and why he was here now. And the feeling made him sick to his stomach. Novak straightened himself and his grin widened even though his eyes remained serious. "Let the fun begin."

XxX

"What's your name?"

"Go to hell,” spat Castiel.

He didn't see the other man's fist coming but he very much felt it when it crushed against his jaw.

"Been there, done that,” growled his torturer. "What. Is. Your. Name."

Castiel swallowed, tasting his own blood in his mouth. He had assisted to torture sessions before, but he had to admit Dean was particularly gifted. Abnormally so, for a good regular American agent. He didn't use any other tool than his bare hands and his tie, but he knew how to hurt. And more than that, he knew how to make the pain last.

"Does it really matter? Wouldn't a rose smell like a rose, even under a different name?" He titled his head in mock curiosity. "Shakespeare's fan, much?"

The man didn't answer but moved closer. He circled Castiel's neck with his tie and started pulling. Asphyxia crept on Castiel, but the tie was released before the loss became too hurtful to be efficient. Castiel took a sharp breath before sensing the tie tighten again. Damn. Dean was really _good._

"C… Castiel, my name's Castiel,” he managed to pronounce.

"Castiel who?" Dean didn't seem to want to release the pressure.

"Milton, Castiel Milton. Please, can't… breathe…"

Dean let it go, and took a step back. Castiel closed his eyes, ashamed of his own weakness. It had been, what? An hour? Two? What would Gabriel say if he knew he cracked so quickly? Even if it was just one name, Castiel had learnt first-hand that the most difficult part in torture was to crack the first defenses. After that, information usually just flowed.

But there was something in Dean. Something in his steel eyes that asserted that he didn't really care if Castiel lived or died. That he will enjoy it either way. There were the eyes of a broken man. Castiel should know; he saw the same eyes every morning in the mirror.

"You know I've been thinking,” said Dean, his casual tone clashing with his bloody knuckles and his generally messed up state. "I knew you loved calling me and leaving me messages to gloat but the other night you seemed… genuinely worried." A shark smile twisted his lips. "And I told myself: what could worry a brilliant son of a bitch like you?" His eyes twinkled. The bastard was definitely enjoying it. "What d'you think, Cas?"

"Oh, I don't know, you tell me" answered Castiel, sarcasm somewhat ruined by his fear _. Please God, please, don't let him hurt Amelia._

"Pure. Gold. Information."

Castiel closed his eyes.

"Look at me,” deadpanned Dean.

Castiel swallowed again and let his eyes meet Dean's green ones.

He had been so cocky only one hour ago. He had thought he was going to get out easy. After all, Dean wasn't a monster. He was a boring, ordinary, very average American dude with a hero complex. Right? Not sadistic.

Castiel had been so stupid. So  _blind_. In a couple of hours, Dean had broken him and he didn't doubt that with another hour, he would be begging for mercy. No wonder Gordon called this man cold.

Dean drew near him again. He rested his left hand on Castiel's cheek, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

"Talk to me,” he said, almost tenderly.

And it was stupid but it was the honest kindness in his voice that did it. Castiel wasn't naïve. He knew that if Dean applied just the right amount of pressure with his thumb, it will crush his bone and hurt like a bitch. For days, probably. But he was so fucking tired.

"Amelia Roman." He mumbled.

Dean moved his hand to his chin and lifted his head. "What about her?"

"It was… we used to… Jimmy Novak was… her… her husband? I… I mean, I was. She discovered… what I was doing and… then, she ran away with our daughter… But… I couldn't, I had to, I had to…"

"You had to protect her. You had to erase every trace of her, even if it was only a single name on a file."

Castiel nodded, visualizing the file. _First alias: Jimmy Novak (? – 1997), married to Amelia Novak._

"What are you gonna do, uh? Get her, torture her, like you tortured me? Make her last longer maybe?"

Provoking the man who was holding him at his mercy wasn't probably wise, but Castiel didn't care. He was tired and he wanted it to be over. He was done.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a monster, Winchester,” he slurred. "If anything, I'm impressed. Hiding this side from your family, your friends… From me. I wonder what they would say. But again, given your father's history…"

"Shut your mouth."

"Hit a nerve, didn't I? He would have approved, don't you think? Very good little American soldier."

He saw the blow this time. It hurt anyway, but it didn't stop him.

"But I'm warning you,  _Dean_. You hurt Amelia and I'm coming personally from the dead to haunt your sorry ass. To make you pay, and this? It would be nothing next to what I'm g… mph!"

Dean had effectively cut his rant by kissing him. Or more precisely, by attacking his mouth with his own. It ended as quickly as it had begun. Dean stared at him, wide-eyed as if it had been Castiel's fucking idea. He looked nothing like the man who had tortured him for hours. He was looking like the ordinary man Castiel had thought he knew everything about before coming here.

The agent then hurried out of the room, leaving Castiel alone. The prisoner tilted his head back, letting his eyes rest on the ceiling.

"Well. That was unexpected."

XxX

Castiel couldn't believe it. He was free. Well, not exactly, since he was under strict governmental protection. Or in containment, whatever. But still. He was outside the CIA building, while a lawyer (a real lawyer!) was rambling about his rights and duties.

"I know you,” said Castiel, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Hu… Well, I suppose so. You knew my brother, after all."

"You're Samuel Winchester."

"Only Sam, but true, in essence."

"Why are you here?"

Sam only looked confused. "Well, you needed a lawyer, and I am a lawyer. Besides, my brother told me he owed you."

"That's a way to put it."

Sam's smile turned a bit uneasy and Castiel decided to break the silence before it went too awkward.

"He tortured me. Your brother."

“Yes," answered Sam unhappily. "I suspected as much."

"I'm a Russian spy,” said Castiel again, strangely willing to make Sam understand the improbability of the situation.

"I know."

"I threatened your brother."

"I know."

"I stalked him."

"To be fair, he would have as well if he could."

Castiel shook his head.

"You're telling me my torturer sent me his brother to defend my rights? It doesn't make sense."

"Does it have to? Look man, I think he's just… sorry? I expect he'll apologize in person later."

It was so far to Castiel's expectations that he couldn't prevent his startled laugh.

"You don't _apologize_  for torture. It sort of defeats the whole point. And you just don't forgive torture either. It's…" He made a vague gesture.

"… A sore point. He _will_ apologize anyway. We had a deal, Dean and I. Since our father passed out, we made a point to avoid his… unorthodox methods." Like torture, hostage, and threats on citizens, Castiel presumed. "He was… very dedicated to his work. I used to yell about this to the old man. Not Dean, though. And after Alastair… It was as if there wasn't any reason to stop." He turned his frank eyes to Castiel. "But I was there. I… we tried to fix him. We weren't so successful, apparently. But, He’ll apologize."

Castiel stayed silent for a few minutes. "You're both crazy."

"Well, our family is kind of… unordinary."

Castiel was beginning to figure as much.

XxX

He was alone again. Sam had left, promising to stay in touch, as if Castiel wasn't a big government enemy. It was almost dinner time so Castiel looked for food in the small kitchenette. There were only bread, beer and frozen hamburgers. Typical.

A knock interrupted his mourning of Gabriel's cooking – the guy had learnt to cook in France, for crying out loud. Castiel went alert. He wasn't as optimistic as thinking it was a rescue team. But it could very much be some of his "colleagues" who would have figured that if he wasn't tortured in a cave anymore, it was because he had cracked. Russian Intelligence wasn't exactly well-known for its forgiveness.

He grabbed a knife, wishing he had a more suitable weapon and opened the door with caution.

It was Dean.

Castiel blinked. "It's you."

"It's me." Dean seemed embarrassed. He walked in reluctantly as if Castiel was forcing him to.

"I'm sorry." He said hastily as fearing second thoughts.

"Sorry about…?"

"No need to be a dick about it. Uh… No, that came out wrong. You have every right to be a dick about it. I… Uh… I apologize, I guess?"

"Agent Winchester…"

"Dean."

"Alright,  _Dean_. I didn't expected you to come to apologize and you certainly don't expect me to forgive you. That's the way things are. You work for the CIA. I work for Russian Intelligence. Everything else is… collateral damage."

"Doesn't make it right, though, does it?" Dean passed a hand in his hair. "Look, I got… carried away. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I shouldn't even have agreed in the first place but… I suppose I thought I had some self-control. I had some nasty mentor back into the dark days…"

"Alastair…"

"Yeah, Alastair. But today was my doing, my… You… You were right, I enjoyed it. You were just there, in pain, and I didn't… Sometimes, I forget that everything is not just black and white, Cas. And pain… It just makes everything so much easier. But then, you mentioned Amelia and… Fuck, I only realized you were a human being then, Castiel."

"You told…? About her?"

"Had to, right? If only to protect her from… others." Dean smiled ruefully. "Don't worry I put Henricksen at the head of the operation. He's decent. I'm not… I'm a flaw, you know, I'm not the norm."

"Is that why you kissed me?"

Dean blushed. Well, thought Castiel, his bad. The question was legit.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I just… I didn't think…"

"You regret it?" Castiel moved closer, staring unblinkingly. "I don't."

Dean's breathing was becoming more and more erratic. "Cas… Castiel. What are you doing?"

 _What was he doing?_  Castiel shrugged. Sometimes, life showed you a cliff and you just had to go and jump.

"What does it look like?"

"Like you're seducing me."

"Is it working?"

"… Why?"

"Well, you're attractive and you obviously find me attractive. It's as good idea as any. Of course, if you're not interested…"

But then – and really, it shouldn't become a habit, but right now, Castiel didn't care – then, Dean cut him off by kissing him. Castiel let himself melt into the kiss, moaning when the other man bit his lip slightly. Dean broke it first.

"It's not a good idea,” he whispered.

"I never said it was."

Dean was now tracing his collarbone with butterfly kisses, while Castiel was fighting against the buttons of Dean's shirt.

"You'll regret it later,” Dean said again.

Castiel managed to keep his breath under control. "I'll survive."

Dean was now topless and visibly eager to bring Castiel in the same state.

"I'm a fuck up."

"You and me both."

At that, Dean simply seemed to stop fighting against himself, quite literally tearing Castiel's shirt from his body. He then worked his hands past the waistband of Castiel's pants, palming his cock and ass through the fabric of his boxers. Castiel whimpered and started grinding against Dean's hands, earning a small chuckle from his partner. He clung to Dean, circling his waist with his legs and burying his face in his neck. He felt Dean carefully sinking them both to the floor.

The floor was hard and cold behind his back, but, all in all, it was fitting. Dean pulled Castiel's jeans and Castiel gladly helped, trying not to disconnect his face from Dean’s. He moaned embarrassingly loud, lightly smirking as he saw the tips of Dean's ears redden. He had always been a screamer and Dean seemed to be in the category of people this fact turned on.

"Caaas…" he growled throatily before kissing him again.

His hands were fumbling, finally freeing Castiel's dick from the last barrier of cloth. Dean paused, considering Castiel's whole body, before surging forwards, crashing on him and grinding their hips together with slight desperation.

Castiel's back arched and he almost hit his head. Dean rose a bit, holding his right hand to the other man's face.

"Suck" he said, lightly pushing fingers in Castiel's mouth.

And Castiel sucked, his eyes a bit glazed by lust. Weird, because the situation wasn't even close to his usual standards. Castiel was used to having a little cosiness when having sex. He wasn't the kind of guy to like it rough. He also preferred it when he was in control. And now, Dean, his jeans still on when he himself was naked, was making him use lube of only saliva-coated fingers, which will likely be in his ass shortly. It shouldn't turn him on so much, particularly when Dean had tortured him mercilessly less than a day ago. But it did, somehow. Castiel was definitely crazy.

Dean was already putting his now wet fingers into Castiel's hole, fingering him open.

"So beautiful, so beautiful, so warm and tight and, fuck, Cas,” Dean was groaning under his breath.

Castiel was panting now and moaning more loudly than ever. He let out a little whine when Dean withdrew his fingers and lifted his eyes to see him produce a condom out of his pocket.

"Wow, aren't you the little boy scout."

"Shut up."

Dean opened the front of his pants and put the condom on before hesitating.

"I don't have any lube…"

"It's alright, you won't hurt me."  _You won't hurt me more than you have already done._

Dean nodded as if he knew what Castiel was implying and pushed slowly into his entrance. Waves of discomfort washed through Castiel and he wriggled a bit under Dean, trying to find a better position. Dean began to push in and out, establishing a steady rhythm and reached to stroke Castiel's cock.

"You okay?"

Castiel nodded, not trusting his voice not to betray the pain. He jumped in surprise when Dean found his prostate.

"Yes, yes, there, there.”

The pain hadn't disappeared but it was good pain, all mixed up with sparks of pleasure, overwhelming him with sensations.

"Dean, Dean, please, fuck, please."

He didn't know what he was asking, but once again, Dean seemed to guess and quickened his rhythm, kissing him savagely as he did so.

Castiel plainly screamed in Dean's mouth as he hit his orgasm. Dean's whole body tensed as he joined him. His kiss turned tenderer and he gripped Castiel's shoulders tightly.

"I'm sorry." were the last words Castiel heard before finally surrendering to sleep.

XxX

When Castiel woke up, he was in a comfy bed, the sun's light making the room shine, and Dean's incredibly green eyes focused on him.

"How come I'm not on the floor?" he asked stupidly.

A ghost of a smile made Dean's lips twitch. "I carried you. You're not that heavy."

Castiel shook his head and winced a bit at the soreness of his ass. Shit. They didn't go in for half-measures last night.

Dean's smile turned apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Castiel tentatively got up and gratefully accepted the aspirin Dean was handing him. He glared good-naturedly.

"It doesn't mean you have my forgiveness, you know."

It was meant in a joke-y way but Dean deciphered the warning under the words.

"I know," he answered.

He offered the other man a lopsided smile as he continued. "But it won't stop me from trying to get it."

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wrote this in a rush, I don't even know if it's any good but whatever. Inspired by this post on tumblr: http://doomsdayy.tumblr.com/post/69396170627/destiel-au-castiel-is-a-secret-agent-of-russian
> 
> Also, just to clarify, Castiel isn't in love with Amelia anymore, but, not unlike Dean feels attached to Lisa, he still feels responsible for her.
> 
> Ugh. I'll maybe make a sequel, this story seems to have too many plot holes.
> 
> EDIT: Many thanks to TheSupremeShadowOverlord for this revision!


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